


Stretch

by ZombieCheeze



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 12:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5928784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombieCheeze/pseuds/ZombieCheeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joonmyun is the cute resident yoga instructor Kris had no idea he wanted to bang.  Until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretch

Kris is mid-chest press when the gym’s resident yoga instructor strides through the free-weights section with a blue yoga mat under his arm.  Kris’s eyes flicker over the instructor’s body, paying particular attention to the close-fitting leggings and loose-necked tank, only barely hiding the fact that the man is clearly a fine piece of  _damn_.  
  
The instructor disappears into the aerobics classroom followed by a crush of women in yoga pants, most of them eyeing him hopefully.  
  
“Come on, man, staring is rude.” Chanyeol rolls his eyes.  “Get that weight up or get off the bench.”  
  
Kris practically hands Chanyeol the bar and is out to the front desk in record time, Chanyeol’s cursing following him all the way out the door.  
  
-  
  
It’s another week until the next yoga class, which Kris penciled himself in for so fast he’d left a smoke trail, but it doesn’t stop him from dwelling on it every single moment since he saw said hot yoga instructor.  He learns from the front desk staff that his name is Joonmyun, and they recommend Joonmyun’s Friday afternoon Hatha yoga for beginners.    
  
Kris likes the sound of that.  Maybe he could get a few private lessons if he’s sufficiently helpless…   
  
It seems like a good plan, but it still bothers him.  What if he hates yoga?  What if he’s terrible at it?  It technically sounds stupid, no matter how much everyone he asks likes it.  If he’s totally honest with himself (which he isn’t going to be), this is strictly a mission to get into the hot instructor’s pants.    
  
Well, of  _course_  he’s doing it for his health.  Stress is bad, right?  
  
-  
  
Friday afternoon can’t come soon enough, because by then Kris has stressed himself out so badly his neck is aching and his head pounding.  He considers briefly skipping the class, popping some aspirin and crashing early, but he’s already paid (with embarrassing eagerness, he remembers grimly), and he’s been going to the gym every night anyway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Joonmyun- _sonsaengnim_.  
  
Chanyeol tells him it’s creepy how much he lingers around, obsessing over Joonmyun- _sonsaengnim_.  Kris realizes it’s probably true, but he can’t be bothered to care:  Friday’s come, finally, and this is his opportunity to ingratiate himself with the instructor, and probably ogle as much as he likes.  Chanyeol wouldn’t understand.  
  
-  
  
He pushes open the door to the aerobics room, but nobody’s there yet, and it occurs to him that in his overexcitement he’s arrived thirty minutes early.  He spots spare mats stacked against the wall and selects a newer-looking one, positioning himself directly in the center of the room, the better to watch Joonmyun- _sonsaengnim_.  
  
Kris sits on the mat cross-legged, at a loss for what to do with himself, even though he’s alone.  He stares at himself in the mirror, feeling stupid.  He’s not even sure if he wore the right clothes, though he thinks he looks pretty good in his wifebeater.  
  
Chanyeol had called him a douche canoe.  But what would Chanyeol know?  
  
The door opens, and Kris’s heart skips in his chest just once, his nerves suddenly curling in on themselves in shyness, because Joonmyun- _sonsaengnim_  is coming through the door, same blue yoga mat under his arm, and he smiles when he sees Kris sitting in the center of the room.  
  
“Hello,” Joonmyun says with a smile.  “New student?”  
  
There’s a beat of silence where Kris attempts to unstick his throat.  “Um.  Yeah.  I’m Kris Wu.”  
  
“Nice to meet you.” Joonmyun smiles, shaking his hand.  “Are you totally new to yoga, or…?”  
  
“First time.” Kris replies a little too quickly.  He’s jumpy, and he takes a deep breath to get a handle on his nerves.  “I…heard your class was good.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know.  Why don’t you let me know after today’s lesson?” Joonmyun says, and the smile on his face is so pure that Kris can only think of all the filthy things that have flitted through his mind in the last week.  
  
Kris is lost in the landslide of collective daydreams and doesn’t reply.  Joonmyun clears his throat and says conversationally, “So, where do you come from?”  
  
“Oh…um…I’m actually from Canada.” Kris mumbles out.  
  
“Canada?  Really?” Joonmyun says, and though his tone is coolly polite, his eyebrows are raised in genuine interest.  “How did you come here, then?”  
  
“For work,” Kris replies.  “A big project with SM Entertainment.”  
  
And somehow, after that, the conversation is easy.  Kris learns that Joonmyun has been teaching yoga since the age of 16 and is certified in three different styles (Kris has dirty thoughts about this revelation), that he doesn’t like pudding (another dirty thought), and that he could place his left foot very nearly in the small of his back (oh fuck so many dirty thoughts).  
  
Other students begin to filter in, and Joonmyun excuses himself with a regretful smile; Kris watches him greet the other students with a touch of misplaced jealousy.  Then a horrible thought strikes him:  What if Joonmyun’s  _straight_?  
  
Because all the women in here are pretty, and most of them are lean and well-sculpted, flexible.  He decides not to worry about it too much, and focuses on the fact that Chanyeol would enjoy the visual aspect of this class.  He decides he’ll consider telling him about it, depending on how many times Chanyeol calls him a fag before next Friday.  
  
-  
  
Half an hour later, Kris finds himself bent in the most impossible way and not at all sure how he got there.  He’s got one leg folded underneath his body, the other extended behind him, and it’s agonizing.  A drop of sweat rolls down the bridge of his nose.  Kris struggles to breathe properly while Joonmyun strolls quietly around the room, correcting postures and gently encouraging the struggling ones.  
  
The soothing, soft music is doing nothing to soothe Kris’s nerves; he’s been doing nothing but staring at Joonmyun’s butt the entire time.  Kris thinks Joonmyun could probably crush a soda can between his cheeks without ever touching it with his hands.  And then he’s having a  _very_  hard time focusing on his breathing because he thinks he’d really like to see that.  
  
“You’re not bad for a first timer,” Joonmyun says, strolling into his field of vision.  “Try to sit up a little straighter, though.  Exhale as you adjust your position.”  
  
Kris tries to do as Joonmyun says, breathing out through his nose and accidentally farting.   _Whoops._  
  
It wouldn’t have been so bad if it wasn’t so quiet in the room, but it is, and it seems to echo in the smaller space.  Someone snickers in the background.  There’s a bubble of laughter in Kris’s throat, and he’s sure that it’s just hysteria because there’s nothing whatsoever he finds funny about this, and he kind of wishes he had a gun right now because there’s no way he can ever live this down.  
  
Joonmyun ignores Kris’s trouser cough with magnificent composure and smiles.  “I know this is a pretty advanced pose for a newcomer, but you’re doing great.  If you want to, you can even walk your hands out and rest your upper body on your folded leg, and place your forehead on the mat.  It’ll gently increase the stretch of your hip.”  
  
Kris wants to try that because it sounds just like burying his head in the sand, and he practically throws himself flat on the mat to hide his burning face from Joonmyun.  
  
-  
  
The class is an hour long, and at the end of the class Kris realizes he feels absolutely fantastic.  All his muscles are loose and pliable, and his mind feels clear but relaxed.  It’s amazing, and Kris thinks it’d be worth coming to these classes even if they weren’t taught by the object of his desire.  
  
He’s rolling up his yoga mat when Joonmyun comes over to talk to him.  
  
“So, how did you like the class?”  
  
“I farted in front of you.” Kris says stupidly, instantly turning beet-red.  
  
“Well, it happens.” Joonmyun laughs softly.  “A lot of core pressure and stimulation can have that effect.  Yoga’s perfect for it.  There are even particular poses to encourage that kind of thing.”  
  
Kris just stares.    
  
“Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it enough to come back next week.  It was great meeting you, Kris.” Joonmyun tucks his yoga mat under his arm as he always does and picks up his bag.  
  
“Yeah,” Kris’s tiny brain finally clicks into gear as Joonmyun turns around to walk away.  “Yeah, I—I did.  I will.  Thanks.”  
  
“Good.  See you later, then.” Joonmyun walks away and Kris is seized with the desire to tackle him, keep him from leaving, anything, but he stands rooted to the spot because from here he can stare at Joonmyun’s butt again.  
  
-  
  
The next week is the longest week of Kris’s life.  He’s dying to go back to Joonmyun’s class.  It’s all he can think about: Joonmyun’s long legs, his muscular shoulders, what it might feel like to run his palms over that skin…and his fantasies alternate with scenes of utter horror in which his accidental air biscuit has officially and instantly trashed his potential love connection with Joonmyun.    
  
It’s Thursday night, and Chanyeol is playing video games and munching popcorn.  He’s only called Kris a fag twice this week.  
  
“Hey, fag.” Chanyeol throws a kernel of popcorn at Kris’s face.  Kris neatly catches it in his mouth.  Okay, so, three times now.  
  
“Hey, douchepickle.” Kris answers in a bored tone.  
  
“You going to see your boyfriend tomorrow?” Chanyeol asks.  
  
“Maybe.” Kris doesn’t bother arguing the point.  
  
“What’s the class like? I mean when you’re not too busy drooling over his downward dog.”  
  
Kris shrugs.  “It’s not bad.  It’s harder than I thought it would be, but I felt good afterward.”  
  
“Bring me with you.”  
  
“Why should I?”  
  
“Gotta make sure this guy’s legit.” Chanyeol wiggles his eyebrows at Kris.  “Can’t have my best friend pairing off with a  _complete_ tool.”  
  
“You don’t care about that.  You just want to go check out the women.”  
  
“Well, that too.” Chanyeol raises one shoulder casually.  “Can I go with you?”  
  
“Fuck, do whatever you want, man.”  
  
-  
  
Kris arrives early to class on Friday again.  Joonmyun’s not there—but he didn’t arrive until a few minutes after Kris last time, so Kris gets his mat and sits in his place, shifting a little to the right after some consideration, so he can get an even better view of Joonmyun.  
  
He perks up instantly when he hears the door open, but it’s Chanyeol, not Joonmyun, who strides in.  He’s terribly sweaty, and that just grosses Kris out.  
  
“So is this the class?  Where is everyone?” Chanyeol picks out a mat and unrolls it way too close to Kris’s floor space.  Kris shoves him over a few feet.  
  
“Well, I was hoping to use this time to talk to Joonmyun, but…” Kris says, trying to sound indifferent and failing.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” Chanyeol grins.  “I’ll go to the restroom while you two, uh, ‘talk’.  Try not to get any drool on his pants.”  
  
Kris whacks him on the arm as he departs, and Chanyeol laughs all the way out.  
  
Joonmyun comes in a few minutes later, looking so at ease—yoga must make you really calm all the time, Kris thinks.  Today he’s wearing a black cutoff shirt and loose, soft canvas trousers, already barefoot—Kris can’t help thinking that he looks  _so_  good.  “Hey, Kris.  You’re early again.”  
  
“Hey,  _sonsaengnim_.” Kris says, and he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake along with the way his heart has suddenly leapt into double-time.    
  
“You can call me Joonmyun.  I don’t mind.” Joonmyun says quietly, with that maddeningly serene smile.  “How was your week?”  
  
Kris laughs nervously. “It was…well, it was a nightmare, now that you mention it.  But I’m fine now.  I was looking forward to this all week.” He stammers a little.  
  
“Me, too.  Yoga always makes me feel so good.  I’m actually starting a Bikram yoga class on Monday.  I meant to ask if you had heard about it, and if you wanted to try it out.  Hot yoga.” He adds, seeing Kris’s confused expression.  
  
“Hot yoga,” Kris repeats, with the faintest pause between the words.  His brain is suddenly in overdrive with words like  _hot_  and _you_  and  _so good_.  He’d like to think Joonmyun’s teasing him, because that’s exactly how it feels, but somehow from the little he knows about Joonmyun, it doesn’t seem like something he’d do.  “Yeah.  That sounds great.  I’d love to.”  
  
He knows he must sound like an underfunctioning automaton, and Joonmyun probably thinks he’s a total retard.  
  
“Anything good planned for the weekend?” Kris asks abruptly, and Joonmyun shrugs.  Kris realizes too late that his conversational tone has gone from nervous to douchey in half a second.  A new record.  He’ll have to tell Chanyeol later.  
  
“Mostly just getting ready for this new class.  Now that I’m qualified to teach Bikram yoga, there’s a lot of preparation involved.  Luckily, next weekend I’ll have more free time.”   
  
Kris doesn’t get it.  “Oh.  Yeah.  I suppose that’s true.”  
  
Speaking of total retards, Chanyeol has come back from the bathroom announcing he’d gotten tired of playing Fruit Ninja while sitting on the toilet, and Kris is starting to wish he had that gun again.  
  
-  
  
Chanyeol surprises Kris by working hard during the class and not just eyeballing the good-looking lady in front of them.  He’s ungainly but enthusiastic, and follows all of Joonmyun’s instructions as closely as he can.  
  
Joonmyun is teaching them a hip stretch that has a foot placed in the crook of their elbow, the knee brought to their chest, and Kris’s eyes are fixed on Joonmyun’s underthigh.  
  
“Quit,” Chanyeol whispers.  
  
“What?”  
  
  
“He’s looking at you!” Chanyeol hisses.  Kris’s eyes dart up and he knows he’s busted harder than a thirteen-year-old’s weed stash.  Joonmyun has that same unruffled expression, but there’s something else in the corners of his smile that has Kris feeling distinctly disturbed.  In the pants.  
  
-  
  
They’re in downward dog, Chanyeol’s bare hands and feet on that nasty (ugh) mat of his and Kris’s on his clean, brand-new mat.  Kris is finding out that a brand new mat isn’t exactly the bee’s knees, though:  it still has some kind of slick manufacturing coating on it, and his hands and feet keep slipping slowly across the surface, while Chanyeol remains steady.  
  
He’s looking over his shoulder, watching Joonmyun wander around the class as is his custom, correcting sloped backs and soft knees, waiting for Joonmyun to turn that wonderful attention on him, even if he knows it’s just because he’s a teacher and wants to ensure the best for all his students.  
  
And just as Joonmyun reaches his side of the aerobics room, Kris’s hand slides out from under him completely.   _Smack_.  The sound is immensely loud in the room as Kris engages in a high-speed makeout session with his yoga mat.  Pain blossoms in his nose and mouth, but he levers himself back up nonchalantly anyway, tasting copper and feeling too much like an idiot to really register Joonmyun’s encouraging direction.  
  
-  
  
Kris isn’t as relaxed at the end of this round, because his face and his ego are still smarting from his fall.  If he’d been paying attention and not trying to fill his mental candy dish with snapshots of Joonmyun’s legs, he wouldn’t have fallen.  This yoga thing _was_  more difficult than he anticipated.  
  
Kris is rolling up his mat when he realizes Chanyeol isn’t next to him anymore.  A quick scan of the room finds him at the front, talking to Joonmyun.  Oh,  _no_.  Kris feels the blood drain out of his face.  
  
Chanyeol isn’t exactly a buddyfucker, not in that regard; but he’s not a very good wingman either.  He always reveals too many details, like that Kris likes to sing into the spatula while cooking, or that he’s got a crippling phobia of dust bunnies, or that he sometimes talks on the phone while on the toilet.    
  
Chanyeol and Joonmyun are laughing—Kris hasn’t had the chance to make Joonmyun laugh yet, and he feels his blood simmer.  He misses the expectant glance Joonmyun and Chanyeol cast in his direction.  
  
“So anyway,” Chanyeol says, slipping Joonmyun a piece of paper.  “He really likes you.  You should give him a call.”  
  
“I won’t be able to until next week.” Joonmyun tucks the paper into his pocket and smiles.  “I’ll probably just talk to him after Bikram on Monday, though.”  
  
-  
  
Kris doesn’t go to Bikram, and then spends the rest of the week in various kinds of agony over the decision.  
  
-  
  
He’s so mad he doesn’t even talk to Chanyeol for about three days, though to Chanyeol’s credit, this isn’t actually unusual.  They don’t often spend a lot of time around each other due to scheduling conflicts, so Chanyeol doesn’t actually have time to notice, though the way Kris keeps scowling at him is difficult to miss.  
  
“What’s your problem, tardcart?”  
  
“Did you tell Joonmyun anything embarrassing about me?”  
  
“What?  No!”  Chanyeol looks frankly shocked.  “God, what do I look like, a complete asshole?  I just gave him your number and told him you were interested.”  
  
“You did  _what_?!” Kris yelps.  Half of him is pissed at Chanyeol for outing him so abruptly.  The other half has immediately jumped up somewhere in his throat in excited nervousness.  
  
“Yep.  I told him, because if I didn’t, you were gonna be a fag about it for weeks, mope for two more, then get buck fever and freeze up when the time came to do something about it.  Don’t worry, I haven’t killed your chances with  _sonsaengnim_.  Just expedited the process a little.”  
  
Kris isn't sure whether to feel relieved or happy or utterly pissed. His secret's out now, and it swirls uncomfortably his stomach.  
  
"What did he say?" He asks Chanyeol, just a touch desperately.  
  
"He said he was busy this weekend, but he'd call you next week...but he was going to talk to you at that Bibble yoga class he was teaching on Monday.”  
  
"Bikram?" Kris's face is heating up.  
  
"Yeah, that." Chanyeol's gaze is measuring. "You didn't go, did you?"  
  
"No." Kris puts a hand to his forehead. "I was so embarrassed. You don't understand how much of a tool he probably thinks I am. I ate shit last class, even though he didn't see how bad I'd split my lip. The class before, I fucking farted in front of him.  Call me Romeo all you like, but I don't think I'm exactly succeeding at wooing him."   
  
"Probably because you're so worried about how you look, you dick." Chanyeol slurps a mouthful of ramyun and talks through bulging cheeks.  Kris pulls a face. "If you'd quit worrying about impressing him and just talk to him, you'd probably realize he's in as much a hurry to get in your pants as you are ready to let him."  
  
Kris stares. "That was oddly profound, Chanyeol."  
  
"Because I’m smarter than you think, penis breath."   
  
-  
  
Friday comes around again, and Kris feels so nervous waiting for Joonmyun that he almost gets cold feet at the last moment, and he glances at the door as if it’s calling his name.  Just as he turns toward it, Joonmyun comes in.  He’s checking the clasp on his gym bag, but when he looks up and sees Kris waiting for him, his expression is a little reserved.  
  
So much for escaping.  
  
“Hi,” Joonmyun says, slightly breathlessly but in the coolest tone Kris has heard yet.  “We missed you on Monday.  Bikram was great.”   
  
“Yeah, I’m…sorry about that.  I just…I don’t know.  I was embarrassed, and shy.” Kris admits, shuffling his foot awkwardly.  
  
“I was going to call you,” Joonmyun says calmly.  “But, when you didn’t come to Monday’s class, I thought…”  
  
Kris can hear the unspoken words in Joonmyun’s silence.  “No!  I was being stupid.  Chanyeol really did me a favor.  I…no, wait.  Um…would you…let me take you out?”  
  
“Well, of course,” Joonmyun smiles, and it’s not his placid half-smile this time but a broad grin.  “What did you have in mind?”  
  
Kris can’t stop smiling through the whole class, and neither can Joonmyun.  
  
-  
  
Kris walks to Joonmyun’s apartment on Saturday evening, feeling sweaty-palmed and nervous, pulse hammering rapidly in his ears.  They’ve exchanged a few cursory texts with directions and times, but Joonmyun doesn’t seem eager to text him too much.  Kris is okay with that.  He’d rather talk to him in person anyway.  
  
Joonmyun meets him in the lobby of his apartment building wearing a collared shirt and jeans, and Kris thinks he looks remarkably strange (and oh so good) wearing street clothes.    
  
They walk along together, talking little but standing so closely together that their elbows bump, and Kris feels a powerful urge to sweep Joonmyun into a dip and kiss him.  He refrains, but only just, because he knows he’d make an ass of himself again, and also because Joonmyun is about ten times stronger than he is.   
  
Kris takes Joonmyun to his favorite  _samgyetang_  restaurant, and Joonmyun doesn’t let Kris know he’s been here before, because he likes how happy Kris seems as he rambles off on a story about how he’d been initiated into  _samgyetang_  by a friend encouraging him to try the ginseng (which he’d hated), and his imitation of the face he’d made (hideous, but hilarious).  
  
The funny, relaxed Kris is a whole different animal than the awkward guy Joonmyun had met a few weeks earlier, and Joonmyun likes it.  Kris likes Joonmyun’s laughter, surprisingly robust and deep for someone so soft-spoken and gentle.  
  
Kris barely tastes the food, though; he’s too busy staring at Joonmyun, watching the way he licks soup broth off his lips.  He pats himself on the back mentally that he has the presence of mind to keep his mouth closed while eating, but that’s about as much as he can ask of himself.    
  
He absently scoops a bite of soup into his mouth and instantly recoils—ginseng root.  Of course.  Joonmyun is laughing at him knowingly as Kris chokes on the bitter taste and swallows grimly to avoid having to spit it into a napkin.  
  
Kris smacks his lips in distaste.  “Stop laughing at me or I’ll make  _you_  eat ginseng.”  
  
Joonmyun’s cheeks color slightly, though his smiling expression doesn’t change.  “I happen to like ginseng.” He replies, and Kris doesn’t know what to make of the quirk of Joonmyun’s eyebrow.  
  
Kris’s insides seem to have vanished, and his hand twitches on the table, numb fingers loosely grasping his chopsticks.  He feels like this is the time to do something, but he can’t think of  _what_.    
  
Joonmyun just rolls his eyes.  
  
-  
  
“Do you like dancing?” Joonmyun asks him.   
  
“Uh…I’m not much of a dancer, to be honest.  No experience.”   
  
“You don’t want to go?”  
  
“No!  I—no, we should go!” Kris stammers quickly.  “Just, y’know, I hope you don’t mind my terrible dancing.”  
  
“Okay, let’s go, then.”   
  
Kris startles at the first touch of Joonmyun’s hand against his, slim fingers sliding into his palm, a warm contrast to the cold air.  It feels nice.  Kris intertwines their fingers and can’t help the smile that breaks across his face.  
  
Joonmyun takes them to a noisy club, and Kris is kind of startled that someone as unflappable as Joonmyun likes so much loud noise and vibrant light.  
  
Joonmyun doesn’t seem to be able to help himself; his body quivers with restrained, rhythmic movement.  Kris can see that Joonmyun is eager to get moving, so he puts a hand on Joonmyun’s lower back.  Joonmyun leans into the touch.  
  
“What do you like to drink?” Kris asks, leaning lower to speak into Joonmyun’s ear.  
  
“You don’t have to buy me any drinks, it’s not like you have to convince me of anything.” Joonmyun says slyly.  “But if you insist, I’ll have makgeolli, please.”  
  
Kris orders Joonmyun’s drink and a beer for himself, and Joonmyun takes a sip.   
  
“Is it good?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Joonmyun smiles at him.  He has some milky white on his upper lip.  “Thank you.”  
  
“You have a little bit of…” Kris points to his upper lip, suddenly inundated with mental images.  He feels like Joonmyun is toying with him, leading him by his nose wherever he wants.  
  
“Get it for me, won’t you?” Joonmyun mouths.  Kris’s hand jumps instinctively as if he’s going to wipe it away with his thumb, but Joonmyun grabs his wrist and pulls him forward, tongue flicking out across his lips to wet them.  
  
“Jesus, Kris, that was a clear hint.  Are you going to kiss me, or what?” Joonmyun rolls his eyes again, and Kris is almost more excited by seeing the crack in his composure than by his words.  
  
“Oh.” Kris stammers, turning red.  Joonmyun’s body feels hot pressed against his.  “Well, y—” But Joonmyun doesn’t give him time to answer, because he jerks him forward a little further and they’re  _kissing_  (oh god), and Joonmyun’s lips are hot and so soft.  Kris feels giddy with triumph, tasting sharp liquor on Joonmyun’s lips.  
  
Joonmyun’s hand looses its grip on Kris’s wrist and slips into Kris’s hair instead, holding him there, lips parting to the tentative probe of Kris’s tongue.  Kris moans before he can help himself, one hand settling on Joonmyun’s lower back and pressing him close.  Joonmyun arches against him gently.  
  
“Fuck,” Kris exhales against Joonmyun’s lips, dizzy with desire.  Joonmyun’s soft laugh lights his nerves on fire.  
  
“Not here,” Joonmyun retorts, and then they’re kissing again, harder this time and god _dammit_ , Joonmyun’s biting his lower lip softly and Kris feels like he’s about to spontaneously combust.  
  
Dimly, he thinks that he probably owes Chanyeol some beer for getting him to this point, but it’s a quiet thought, immediately buried in the landslide of need that cascades through him at the raking of Joonmyun’s fingernails on his scalp.  Kris slides his hands down to Joonmyun’s ass, squeezing gently and moving on over his strong thighs.  Joonmyun breaks away, panting and glaze-eyed, steely tranquility stripped away.  
  
“I like dancing, but I think we should go,” Joonmyun murmurs, and Kris loves the way his voice trembles ever so faintly.    
  
Kris doesn’t see any point in arguing.  “Yeah.  Let’s go.”  
  
“My place.” Joonmyun grabs Kris’s hand and tugs him out the door.  
  
-  
  
The walk back to Joonmyun’s apartment seems far but goes by in a flash; the cool night air tempers their desire momentarily, but it doesn’t stop them clinging all over one another as they walk:  Kris with a hand on the back of Joonmyun’s warm neck, Joonmyun’s hand in the small of his back, making both of them shiver slightly.  Both of them are holding back as hard as they can, knowing that they’re probably not even going to make it to Joonmyun’s bed, much less remember to close the door behind them.  
  
They climb the stairs to Joonmyun’s second-floor apartment, and Joonmyun looks at Kris searchingly before unlocking the door, though Kris isn’t sure what he’s looking for.  Maybe Joonmyun’s as nervous as Kris is.  
  
He toes off his shoes as he steps inside the apartment, and he’s unsurprised to see that Joonmyun is as tidy and organized in private life as he is in class.  He has a brief impression of dark furniture, a small television mounted on the wall, a tiny kitchen, and then Joonmyun reaches out to fist a handful of Kris’s crisp white shirt.  
  
“Tour later.” Joonmyun whispers, dragging Kris toward him by the force of the grip on his collar.  “Kissing now.”  
  
“’Kay.” Kris is helpless to Joonmyun’s gentle authority; it might’ve originally been his own idea, but Joonmyun is running things now.  Joonmyun’s lips are still soft, so soft, and his kisses are teasing but growing increasingly passionate, his fingers tight on Kris’s shoulders.  
  
Joonmyun pulls him into the bedroom forcefully, pressing him down onto the bed.  Kris isn’t exactly fighting, but Joonmyun is pushing him around like he’s being willfully disobedient.  He crawls between Kris’s spread knees, planting a hand on either side of Kris’s head and bending to kiss him.  
  
Joonmyun’s hands pull his shirt open from top to bottom button with one firm tug.  Kris shivers as Joonmyun gropes shamelessly underneath his undershirt, as the situation has blown completely out of his control; he’s never been manhandled like this, but he likes it.  Likes that Joonmyun is stubbornly pulling the white wifebeater over his head and smoothing his hands over newly-revealed skin, a pleasurable noise leaving his throat.  Kris thinks it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever heard.  
  
Kris grabs Joonmyun’s hand on his waist and moves it to the fly of his jeans, pressing so Joonmyun can’t mistake just how hard he is.  Joonmyun pushes the heel of his warm palm down into the fabric firmly, and Kris gasps at the sensation.  
  
“I like making you squirm,” Joonmyun murmurs, kissing Kris again and rubbing at the crotch of his pants before deftly undoing the buckle single-handedly, his other hand toying with one of Kris’s nipples.    
  
“All you’ve done since we met is make me squirm,” Kris retorts, pulling Joonmyun’s shirt off his shoulders.  Joonmyun doesn’t reply, just slides Kris’s pants off all the way, leaving him in just boxers and his dress socks.  “Don’t forget the socks.”  
  
“I didn’t,” Joonmyun says with a laugh as he yanks the socks off by their toes.  “I want to see you naked, and wearing socks means not naked.”  
  
Kris shakes his head a little, goosebumps shivering over his skin where Joonmyun’s hands are red-hot pressed against his abdomen, his thighs, smoothing over his neck.  Kris pulls Joonmyun close with legs wrapped around his waist and rolls them both over, relishing Joonmyun’s grunt of surprise.  
  
Kris is secretly a tease, and he takes his time undoing Joonmyun’s belt and fly, slowly smoothing his palms over Joonmyun’s hips and pressing against the shape of Joonmyun’s cock, before dragging the stiff denim down and off.  Joonmyun lets him, but Kris can see he’s impatient, judging by the growing wet spot on his clinging boxer-briefs and the little greedy noises he makes when Kris does what he wants.  
  
Kris’s mouth waters at the sight of Joonmyun’s slim legs, musculature gently defined with the quiet strength of yoga, almost perfectly smooth.  Joonmyun lifts one leg and rests his calf pointedly on Kris’s shoulder, and Kris runs a hand down the back of Joonmyun’s thigh into the leg of his shorts.  
  
Joonmyun’s soft, appreciative noise at the contact goes straight to Kris’s cock.   He wastes no more time yanking Joonmyun’s underwear down his smooth legs and dropping his own, crawling back over Joonmyun’s body and kissing him fiercely.  Kris might be a tease, but he’s not that patient.  
  
Every nerve in Kris’s body is a livewire; Joonmyun’s hands skate over Kris’s skin, touching, pinching gently, raking fingernails over sensitive places Kris didn’t know he had.  Kris takes both of their cocks in one hand, closing his fingers tightly over the flesh, and Joonmyun moans outright.  
  
“Kris, don’t tease.” Joonmyun says, and there’s an authoritative edge to his voice that makes Kris want to disobey just to see what Joonmyun would do to him, but somewhere in his addled mind he remembers that Joonmyun could crush his head between his thighs, so he listens.  “Over here.” Joonmyun points at the second drawer of his nightstand, and Kris fishes a condom out of the drawer and a tube of lubricant.  
  
“Prepared?” Kris asks wryly.  
  
“Well, what can I say?  You’re hot.” Joonmyun replies, just as shrewdly, and Kris dives to seal his mouth to Joonmyun’s again, if only to stop him saying such incendiary things, because it makes his blood run hot with all the things he wants to do to Joonmyun—wants to twist him like a pretzel and make him scream in ecstasy.  He’s not so sure it’ll be only Joonmyun doing the screaming.  
  
Joonmyun holds his breath at the first stroke of Kris’s lubed fingers against his entrance, bites his lip as one finger slides in slowly past the resistance.  “Okay?” Kris murmurs, and Joonmyun nods, releasing the breath he’d been holding against Kris’s cheek.  Kris kisses him and presses his ring finger in alongside the middle, making Joonmyun breathe harshly through his teeth.  “Does it hurt?”  
  
“No,” Joonmyun breathes.  “No, it feels good.  Bend your fingers up a little more.”  
  
Kris crooks and twists his fingers inside Joonmyun’s tight heat, and all at once Joonmyun’s whole body goes rigid, a strained moan leaving his throat.  Kris tries again, pressing deeply into Joonmyun’s body, and Joonmyun grabs his wrist, legs wrapping around Kris’s waist.  
  
“God,  _right there_ , Kris, don’t—no, don’t move—” Joonmyun growls, and he sounds so raw that Kris’s hips twitch forward, magnetized with anticipation.  Kris’s wrist aches already, the clench of Joonmyun’s body around his knuckles powerfully tight, but he doesn’t let up, pressing upward with the pads of his fingers against the soft spot inside Joonmyun and gently wiggling them so that Joonmyun writhes against him, breathing harshly through gritted teeth.  
  
“That’s enough.” Joonmyun jolts when Kris’s fingers leave his body, and Kris flexes them experimentally to get the feeling back.  
  
“You want me to fuck you?” Kris asks.  Joonmyun grabs Kris’s elbows and pulls him down until he’s got a hand on either side of Joonmyun’s ribs, and their foreheads are pressed together.  
  
“I want you to fuck me into the wall.” Joonmyun says seriously.  “If you think you can.”  
  
That’s all the invitation and challenge Kris needs, and he rolls the condom on hastily and accidentally spills lube all over his hand and the top of Joonmyun’s thigh, revealing just how nervous he is even now at the critical moment.  Joonmyun’s composure is still as legendary as ever.  Kris hoists one of Joonmyun’s legs over his shoulder and lines himself up; he feels Joonmyun’s calf tighten against his neck as he presses inside, and oh, his body is wet and hot and  _so tight_ , clinging and squeezing him in concentric circles, and Kris sinks all the way in with a strangled, embarrassingly high-pitched moan.   
  
“Jesus, you’re huge,” Joonmyun exhales.  Kris laughs breathlessly, but doesn’t reply except for a gentle roll of the hips, and Joonmyun clutches at his hips with sharp fingers.  “Go.  Just—move, Kris, please.”  
  
If Kris had all his mental faculties in place, he would have playfully asked Joonmyun to repeat himself, but Joonmyun’s body is squeezing the breath out of him, and it’s all he can do to keep from embarrassing himself as he drives his hips forward.  Joonmyun’s moan of pleasure has tingles running down Kris’s spine in anticipation.  
  
Kris pulls Joonmyun’s lower leg up and hoists Joonmyun’s body, his knees over Kris’s elbows, hands around Joonmyun’s thighs for stability; it’s hard work, and Kris feels his core straining against the weight, but Kris has a better range of motion here, and Joonmyun’s suddenly making some very appreciative noises at much higher volume.  Kris speeds up, the slap of dampening skin punctuating Joonmyun’s throaty moans.  
  
Joonmyun’s hands seize Kris’s hair and hold on as if for dear life, and it hurts, but Kris likes it anyway—it makes his hips snap harder, faster, too far gone already to feel a gentle touch.  
  
“Let me bend you over.” Kris growls, struggling to slow his thrusts.  Joonmyun’s stare is wild-eyed.  “I’ve been dying to look at that ass since we met.”  
  
Joonmyun laughs, and it’s a little crazed.  “So why don’t you?”  
  
Kris’s body lurches when he slides out of Joonmyun and rolls him over with strong hands.  Joonmyun obeys, his body pliant and smooth under Kris’s hand gliding down his spine, before Kris sinks back into the hot grip of Joonmyun’s body, watching his cock disappear slowly inside.  Joonmyun makes a soft gasping noise, lower back arching, and Kris steadies him with a hand on his hip.  
  
“Move,” Joonmyun says, reaching back to dig his fingers into Kris’s hip.  “Now.”   
  
“I’m just enjoying the view.” Kris murmurs, squeezing Joonmyun’s ass cheeks together and starting up a slow rhythm.  
  
Joonmyun’s voice flattens into a long moan, and he braces himself with his hands against the headboard.  “Jesus, Kris, don’t stop.”  
  
“Hadn’t planned on it.” Kris grits out, because Joonmyun starts pushing his hips backward in time with Kris’s thrusts, white-knuckled and moaning shamelessly.  Kris can’t stop now, even if he wanted to; Joonmyun’s driving backward against Kris’s cock so hard that the flesh of Kris’s thighs is stinging with the impact.  
  
Joonmyun reaches back to stroke his own cock.  The motion cants his hips forward just slightly on Kris’s thrust in, and Joonmyun’s voice bursts out, startlingly loud even though he wasn’t being terribly quiet before:  “Kris!  Right there, oh my  _god_ , harder,  _please_ —”  
  
“Gonna come if I go any faster,” Kris warns, closing his eyes but trying his best to speed up his pace.  “Dammit, Joonmyun—”  
  
“Harder, harder,” Joonmyun begs desperately, fingers clawing at the headboard.  Kris reaches forward and threads his fingers through Joonmyun’s hair, just to distract himself.  
  
“Pull,” Joonmyun demands, and Kris clenches his fist in Joonmyun’s silky hair and pulls, pulls the last nail of Joonmyun’s resistance; Joonmyun arches his back and comes with a shaky wail, shuddering through the slamming of Kris’s hips.  It’s only a few more strokes before Kris feels that familiar wave of heat rising in his belly, washing over his skin, and then he’s drowning in a cascade of scalding pleasure.  He comes with that same embarrassingly high-pitched noise, though he’s so far gone he doesn’t even hear himself.  
  
He forces himself to recover quickly, sliding out of Joonmyun’s body and tossing the condom in the bedside trash.  Joonmyun is lying on his side, looking tremendously relaxed; his eyes are clear, and he’s smiling—not his Zen smile, but a heavy-lidded, fucked-out, dazed grin.  Kris lies down next to him and pulls Joonmyun against his chest, and Joonmyun cuddles against him like he belongs there.    
  
And maybe, Kris thinks, maybe he does.  
  
-  
  
“And to think the first time we met, you farted in front of me.” Joonmyun says sleepily.  
  
Kris pokes Joonmyun in the ribs.  
  
-  
  
Chanyeol isn’t at all surprised.  “Told you, butt nugget.” He says nonchalantly, pouring milk about three inches left of his cereal bowl.  
  
“Yeah, well.” Kris sets a case of beer on the counter in an unspoken gesture of gratitude.  
  
“So you guys are like, a thing now?” Chanyeol tries to mop the milk up with a tissue.  Kris rolls his eyes and puts a towel over the mess.  
  
“I guess.  I mean, we decided to give it a try, anyway.” Kris says, smiling.  Joonmyun had asked him the morning after if he wanted to try for something a bit more substantial than just a shag in the haymow, and Kris had to admit, he had liked the idea.  
  
“Just as long as you guys don’t rub it in,” Chanyeol pulls a face.  “Don’t keep me awake at night.”  
  
“Please, Chanyeol.  Don’t tell me I don’t get to return the favor.”  Kris jokes.  “I  _heard_  you a week ago.  You made her  _howl_.”  
  
Chanyeol goes a very deep shade of red at this.  “What?  Why are you blushing so hard?”  
  
“Um, no reason,” Chanyeol says, but his eyes are darting sideways and he won’t meet Kris’s eyes.  
  
“Chanyeol,” Kris says warningly.  “What’s up?”  
  
“That wasn’t—who you thought it was.”  
  
Kris thinks for a minute.  “Wait.  Was that  _Baekhyun_?  Does he really scream like a— _Baekhyun,_ Chanyeol?  Really?”  
  
“Fuck you.” Chanyeol snaps halfheartedly.  
  
“Get in line,” Kris sticks his tongue out.  “So really, when did you start hooking up with dudes?”  
  
“…I met him at yoga.  He’s really good.” Chanyeol says uncomfortably.  “At yoga.”  
  
“Sure he is.  At yoga.  Well, as long as you’re happy.  Just stuff a sock in his mouth sometimes or something if you’re going to have him peeling the paint.” Kris helps himself to one of Chanyeol’s beers, deaf to Chanyeol’s indignant sputters about Indian giving.  
  
A text from Joonmyun lights the screen on his phone.   _Are you coming to Bikram tomorrow?_  
  
Kris smiles.   _Wouldn’t miss it for the world._


End file.
